


Water, Water Everywhere

by orphan_account



Series: Two Brothers Holmes [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Brotherly Bonding, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Hairbrush, Handspanking, Kid!Lock, Kidlock, Spanking, wooden spoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tries to pull a prank, with disastrous consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water, Water Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiaoconnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiaoconnell/gifts), [seaholly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaholly/gifts).



When Mycroft arrived home, he didn't expect to hear his mother shouting. Certainly, it wasn't unheard of – if Sherlock had done something just before he got home, it might happen – but his mother so rarely shouted that it was even rarer for him to walk into a battlefield.

“Don't go in the living room.”

Mycroft jumped at his father's voice, which sounded like it was coming from the coat-stand.

“Father?”

“Go upstairs, I'll be up to explain in a minute.”

Feeling a rather intense sensation of curiosity, Mycroft obeyed, putting his work briefcase away carefully. What on _earth_ had Sherlock done this time? Certainly, he was often in trouble (though not as often as when he was younger), but the twelve year old rarely did something so catastrophic that his mother was that incensed. Mycroft felt irritated at himself for not listening to the words being shouted, as now he was upstairs he couldn't clearly hear them and thus couldn't work out what the brat'd done. Within a minute, his bedroom door slid open.

“Can I sit down?” He father asked, indicating Mycroft's free desk chair. The nineteen year old nodded – he had placed himself on his bed.

“What has he done now?”

Mr Holmes's pressed his lips together, before suddenly smirking. As if trying hard not to laugh, he suddenly pushed a hand over his mouth, like a toddler trying to be quiet.

“He...oh dear. He placed a bucket of iced water over the bathroom door a couple of minutes ago, as you generally use the lavatory when you get home from work. An infantile prank, really. Your mother had just gotten dressed in her fancy clothes and put on her makeup for that charity ball that she's attending in a while, and decided to use the lavatory one last time. Of course, Sherlock hadn't thought about that, and the water went all over her, quite ruining her dress and her makeup.”

Mycroft couldn't keep back a grin at his brother either: he had done a very similar thing a few years previously when their mother had been out, and when it'd landed on their father, he'd just cleaned it up, laughed at the boy and then warned him not to do it when his mother was in. What an irrepressible little  _prat_ . 

“Shouldn't you go and deal with Sherlock so that mother can get ready again?”

Mr Holmes's lips twitched again. “I tried...but I started laughing, and she sent me out of the room. I rather think that I'm in the doghouse, too.”

“I don't mean to intrude, and I really don't _want_ to, but if you're incapable of dealing with him this time and mother really does need to get ready, perhaps I could deal with him?” Mycroft spoke slowly, biting his lip. He'd spanked Sherlock a few times and he always hated doing it, because he felt like such an utter bastard, especially if Sherlock cried. This time, however, it seemed like the most sensible suggestion. His father was meant to be going to the charity ball, too, but apparently had dressed already and was all ready.

“Why don't you go and suggest it to your mother? It seems like a sensible suggestion to me, but when she gets going, you know what she can be like.”

Mycroft nodded and stood up, rubbing his hands together. Despite his desire for his mother to have a good night, he really hoped that she was too angry to let any one else deal with it, as he didn't want to have to spank his brother.

* * *

 

_Tap tap!_

Inside the living room, a very shaky, frightened looking (and feeling) Sherlock was sat on a sofa while his soaking wet mother stood in front of him, shouting animatedly. Although Sherlock heard the quiet knock at the living room door and saw his brother's face in the clear glass panel, his mother didn't, and it took a much sharper knock from Mycroft for her to stop shouting and indicate for him to come in.

Already, Sherlock was a very sorry little boy, and he hadn't been punished beyond a single, sharp swat on his way into the living room and some pretty intense telling off. He disliked upsetting his mother, and he genuinely hadn't meant to on this occasion. She loved balls and parties, and now it was doubtful whether she'd be changed and ready in time for this one.

“Mummy?”

Sherlock noticed immediately that Mycroft called her 'mummy' instead of the recently adopted 'mother' (their father was almost always 'father', very rarely 'daddy'). He was using affection to calm her down. Internally, Sherlock thanked Mycroft.

“Yes, Mycroft?”

“Since you need to clean yourself up before the ball, do you want me to deal with Sherlock? Otherwise you'll probably be late.”

Sherlock felt even worse when Mrs Holmes suddenly dissolved into tears. Grabbing her oldest son, she hugged him tightly.

“I'm glad that I've got one considerate son. Spank him when we're gone and then put him to bed without any dinner. Thank you, Mikey, you're a good boy.”

Blast Mycroft! Bloody blast him!

As soon as Mrs Holmes was gone from the room, Mycroft turned to Sherlock, biting his lip to stop himself from smirking.

“Rather an infantile prank, Sherlock. I'm surprised you didn't put hydrochloric acid in the bucket.”

Sherlock responded with a wan smile. “I considered it. Look, mummy _has_ to know how sorry I am that she got in the way of the bucket...she never loses her temper like that, Mycroft, she's really furious.”

“What gave you that impression?” Mycroft couldn't help but reply sarcastically, before sitting down beside his brother. “She does know. She's just upset because she thought she'd have to miss tonight, and because father laughed and ruined her disciplinary routine.”

Sherlock nodded. “What are you going to spank me with?”

Looking down at the unusually pale, tight-lipped boy, Mycroft realised that he wouldn't need much punishment. He also realised that their mother's suggestion of putting him to bed without dinner was her anger talking, as she almost never imposed that punishment – he himself had only been given it once or twice as a child, and Sherlock only four or five times thus far, and generally then it had stood by itself as a punishment.

“Just my hand, as long as you co-operate with the terms which I shall lay out when mother and father have left. If not, it'll be the hairbrush.”

Sighing, Sherlock flopped back into the sofa sofa. “Normally, I can find an argument against me being punished. Today, I can't.”

“Mindless insolence, dear brother, has no explanation.”

Affection between the two brothers was rarely as palpable as it was then. Sherlock felt awfully grateful to Mycroft for 'saving' him from what inevitably would have been an inordinately harsh punishment, while Mycroft felt glad that Sherlock could see the error of his ways.

“Mycroft?”

“Yes?”

“I know that this is an odd question, but it does have relevance – what was the worst punishment that you ever got?”

Mycroft thought for a few seconds. “Probably when father belted me for letting you set the kitchen on fire. Why?”

“You're such a goody two-shoes, I was trying to see if you ever did anything really bad. Apparently not, as that was almost entirely my fault.”

“Before you were born, I was punished for deliberately breaking a rule.” Mycroft found himself telling his brother. “You know mummy's favourite bookshelf? When I was about six, I climbed right up it to get a book. I broke one of the shelves and managed to pull the whole shelf and all of the books down with me.”

Sherlock's eyes widened. “Even _I_ was never stupid enough to climb the bookshelf – mummy said she'd spank me every day for a week if I did!”

Mycroft laughed. “I didn't get it as badly as that – it was the first time I was ever physically punished. Father just gave me an awfully hard handspanking.”

“What other trouble have you been in, Mycroft?” Sherlock looked immensely happier than he had a few moments before, when Mycroft had been genuinely worried about his brother. Thus, he decided to indulge him.

“When I was 5 or so, I developed a habit of taking biscuits from the tin without asking. Eventually, mummy caught me in the act and I got an awfully long sentence of corner time. Due to my young age, I did it again the next week, and I had to go to bed early every night for a week.”

Sherlock laughed. “You were an idiot, Mycroft.”

Before Mycroft could reply, their father popped his head around the door. “Your mother's dress has come out alright after a bit of towelling, so we'll be going in ten minutes or so. Your mother told me to tell you to get into your pyjamas, Sherlock.”

With a sigh and a sarcastic, “Yes, sir.”, Sherlock flopped out of the room.

* * *

 

While Sherlock changed, Mycroft contemplated his plan. What Sherlock had done wasn't that bad, really, he'd just had some awfully bad luck. Certainly, his mother's instruction for his punishment was too harsh.

“We're going now, Mikey – thank you for dealing with Sherlock.”

Allowing his mother to hug him, Mycroft patted her shoulder gently. “You look lovely, mother. Have a nice evening.”

As soon as Mycroft was sure his parents were gone, he went up the steep staircase and into his brother's room. Sherlock was lying on his bed, throwing a ball up in the air and catching it deftly as he tunelessly hummed.

“Sherlock?”

With a groan, the younger boy sat up.

“Listen, I have a proposition for you. As long as you co-operate with me fully and don't tell mother or father, I'll give you dinner and I'll give you a handspanking on your bare or a spanking with the spoon over your pyjamas, whatever you prefer. If you don't co-operate, or you tell mother or father, I'll give you a hairbrushing on the bare and you won't have any dinner. I don't think that mother was being fair when she told me how to punish you.”

Sherlock looked with surprise at his brother, before nodding slightly. “The former. Spoon.”

Mycroft nodded. “Let's get the spanking over with, then. Go down to the living room.”

Sherlock gave his brother a tiny smile. “Thank you, Mycroft. I think mother might have been planning on hairbrushing me.”

As the two Holmes brothers descended the stairs, Mycroft contemplated what'd happen if their mother did find out how lenient he had been with Sherlock. Obviously, he was too old to spank (at least, he hoped he was) and his mother's threats of 'you're never too old to go over my knee, Mycroft Holmes' whenever he got too sarcastic were empty. She wouldn't kick him out. With a horrible jolt, Mycroft realised that she'd punish Sherlock wholly for it. Hoping fervently that Sherlock was intelligent enough not to reveal anything, he found the spanking spoon out of its cupboard and followed Sherlock into the living room, where Mycroft had already drawn the curtains to allow some privacy.

* * *

 

“Over the sofa arm, Sherlock.”

Bent over the high leather sofa arm, Sherlock was balancing on his tiptoes and hands, his bottom pushed high in the air. The spanking might be gentler than what his mother would have applied, but it certainly wouldn't be gentle!

_Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!_

The first five whacked down across the tight blue and white striped pyjamas sharply, each one eliciting a tiny intake of breath from the almost-teenager.

_Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!_

Sherlock wriggled a little in his uncomfortable pose, fully aware of how vulnerable a position he was in. It wasn't very sore, yet, but Mycroft had a way of handling the spoon which made it deadly. So did his mother and father, of course, but Mycroft seemed to have a special touch with it.

_Smack! Smack! Smack smack smack smack smack!_

At the faster flurry of smacks, Sherlock let out a low, grunting gasp. Despite his frequent punishments, he never seemed to adjust to how much a good spanking stung, even over pyjama bottoms.

“Aren't we done yet, Mycroft?” he asked in a complaining voice.

“We've barely started, brother mine.” was the smug reply which he got. Even though Mycroft hated doing it, he did get a certain level of satisfaction at reducing Sherlock from his usual, condescending self to a slightly more human self.

_Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!_

Sherlock's toes drummed against the floor as five slower, much harder and well thought out smacks came down, alternating between bottom cheeks.

“Please, Mycroft.”

Mycroft sighed. “Twenty more with the spoon or eight with the hairbrush on the bare?”

Occasionally, he heard his mother doing this. Sherlock preferred shorter, harder spankings and when he got whiney and annoying, she would offer a shorter alternative which would hurt more but get it out of the way.

“Hairbrush.” Sherlock immediately replied, before jumping up, easing his pyjamas down and getting straight back into position. Mycroft was surprised, however, to see three tramlines on the boy's bottom, evidently from the cane.

“When did you get caned?”

“Today. What with all the shouting about buckets, I didn't have chance to tell mother. Genuinely – I had been about to let her know before the headmaster could when she got in the way of the bucket.”

Mycroft actually laughed. “You are an awful human being, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock nodded vigorously from his position. “Are you going to get on with it?”

Within a minute, Mycroft had fetched the hairbrush.

“These might sting, just a little.” Mycroft told his brother, smirking, before laying in.

_Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack whack whack!_

Once the eight had been applied, Sherlock jumped out of position and rubbed his bottom thoroughly before yanking up his pyjamas.

“How about dinner, Mycroft?”

“Get in the kitchen, you brat.” was Mycroft's reply, served with a smile.

* * *

 

Mrs Holmes did not become aware of Mycroft and Sherlock's deceptions, nor was the subject every brought up again except for once, at Christmas. Sherlock was twenty seven and Mycroft thirty four, and neither were pleased at being dragged away from their work to spend Christmas with the family, no matter how much their loved their parents.

“That's a lovely dress, dear – it's been years since you last wore it!” Mr Holmes exclaimed on Christmas morning, when Mrs Holmes came downstairs in the very dress she had worn to the charity ball. Both Mycroft and Sherlock recognized it, and shared a little look which Mrs Holmes didn't miss.

“What's wrong, boys?”

“Nothing, mother, you look...nice.” Mycroft told her, trying not to smile at the memory of what his brother had done.

“Some people might look a little _wet_ in that dress, but you really pull it off.” Sherlock helpfully added, with a quirky smile. At the pun, Mycroft closed his eyes for a second to stop himself from laughing.

“What's wrong?” Mrs Holmes suspiciously repeated.

“Do stop questioning them, sweetheart, you sound like a dripping tap.” Mr Holmes added, with a knowing glance at his sons. This was too much for Sherlock, who pressed a hand over his mouth and ducked away to hide his grin.

“What joke am I missing?” Mrs Holmes demanded, glaring at the three men who were all in various states of laughter.

“Don't you...sea?” Mycroft asked, hating himself for joining into such infantile humour but thoroughly enjoying the idiocy of it all. Both Mr Holmes and Sherlock completely lost it at that and began to laugh openly, which set Mycroft off too. Mrs Holmes stared down at her dress for a second, face screwed up, before a look of realisation dawned on her face.

“If you are all referring to Sherlock's _idiotic_ prank when he was twelve, I will not be best pleased.”

It was with stiff smiles that the other three got through the next hour, one or another occasionally excusing himself to have a laugh to himself before returning.

 


End file.
